


Drabble me this

by dragonardhill



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bunker, M/M, Schmoop, panic attack-ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-09-06 17:52:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16837495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonardhill/pseuds/dragonardhill
Summary: If you’re looking for something quick...hope you enjoy these lil samdean drabbles. Each chapter is a separate drabble and I will likely add more.





	1. Bind

Dean moves soundlessly around the kitchen shifting, restless. Since he left his brother curled in their bed he’s scanned headlines, choked down leftover pizza, and cleaned their already-clean kitchen.

An old motorcycle is waiting for restoration in the garage but he struggles against a growing pull to go to Sam instead. Wants to watch him breathe, slide in next to him, curl around him.

His not-so-little brother hit the sack a few hours ago after spending most of the last 72 hours researching lore on the trolls of Dimmubirgin for a hunter network in Iceland. Dean fell asleep on a nearby couch and Sam woke him near dawn with kisses along his jaw mumbling something about sleeping beauty. 

They barely got Sam’s jeans and shirt off before he collapsed, felled timber, onto their bed. After gently kissing his sleeping brother’s neck, Dean had reluctantly grabbed a shirt and crept out into the bunker so that Sam could sleep in peace, irrationally hating the distance between the bedroom and the rest of the bunker. 

It’s only been a couple of hours but most of the last hour he’s spent trying to ignore a growing, desperate unease. Multiple times he finds himself heading toward the bedroom without any forethought but recovers and stops determined to overcome whatever this is. Winchester stubbornness, and more than a little pride, keeps him from giving in to the compulsion for several more minutes.

Now stopped in front of a row of kitchen cabinets, he evaluates his life. He’s been shot, stabbed, tortured, and died multiple times for gods sake. He can go a few hours without his little brother. Anxiety squeezes his ribcage making a liar out of him. It’s not actually possible to be addicted to a person, right? 

They finally acted on this crazy, mixed-up thing between them a week ago and have been pretty much inseparable since. This might actually be the first time they’ve not been in the same or adjoining rooms because even showers have been a joint affair lately.

Confusion sends Dean’s heart into double-time. Apprehension clogs his throat as he struggles against rising panic. His legs seem to be equal parts jello and ice, quivering and frozen, and he’s long since given up trying to pretend this is nothing.

“Sam!” comes out as a choked whisper swallowed by his dry tongue. Darkness squeezes into the edges of his vision as he gasps for breath. Fuck pride, he would gladly run to their bedroom if he could make his legs move. Heart pounding through his chest, his hands shake as they desperately grip the cabinet handles in front of him to keep him upright.

Dean senses Sam before he hears him enter the kitchen behind him and such relief floods into his body that air gets loudly sucked into suddenly opened lungs. He’d be mortified if he wasn’t so fucking grateful when rock hard arms wrap around him and pull him back into an even stronger chest. Hot breath and warm lips float over Dean’s neck as Sam slowly molds himself along his brother’s back. 

“Hey,” Sam whispers. “You ok?” the question comes out with sandpaper edges from recent sleep but real concern is laced into those few words.

Dean can’t force words past his throat and wouldn’t know how to answer anyway. Is he? The hell?! 

Laying his arms directly over Sam’s for maximum skin contact, Dean silently weaves their fingers together as he pulls one of Sam’s arms up across his chest and wraps the other more tightly around his waist.

“I felt something, not…I don’t…,” Sam mumbles into Dean’s temple pressing soft, open-mouthed, reassuring kisses into his brothers skin in between words. “Needed to get to you,” he finally gets out.


	2. Reach

Dean strains trying to stretch his arm just a little higher. Boots up on tip-toes, using his other hand to push off a lower shelf to get him just a little closer to the box sitting just out of reach. Eventually he resorts to little hops and then jumps, trying and failing to get his fingers on the box without having to pull a chair over.

He pauses when he hears a low chuckle behind him and turns to find his long-and-lean baby brother leaning against the doorframe with a smirk.

“Need something?” Sam asks, raising his eyebrows and letting a dimpled grin spread across his face.

“No!” Dean insists, glaring daggers in his brother’s direction making Sam’s grin widen. Despite the protest, Sam pushes off the door and saunters across the room. “It’s more like a strut,” Dean thinks. “A smug, self-satisfied, taller-younger-brother strut.”

Sam’s eyes are still laughing as he crowds his brother against the shelves, reaching up and over him to pull the box down. Sam’s self-satisfied smile makes Dean want to kill him or fuck him and it’s honestly a toss up most days.

“I hate you,” Dean grumps. Sam throws his head back and laughs, reveling in how much that statement proves the height thing still bothers his older brother. Eventually Sam pulls himself together, stands up to his full height, and steps back into Dean’s space eyes going from teasing to bold.

“You love me,” Sam counters confidently pressing his (slightly) shorter brother back against the shelves.

Dean lets him enjoy the upper hand for two seconds then lightning quick, grabs, spins, and kicks Sam’s long legs out wide in one smooth motion. Pressing forward, Dean slides into the spot between his brother’s open legs like the last piece of a puzzle leaving Sam pinned to the shelves, a little breathless and a lot turned on.

“Yeah, I do.” Dean agrees with a smirk of his own.


End file.
